Rescue Me
by ladypink11
Summary: AU - Earth 2114. In the midst of the Time War Clara Oswald is ready to die, she has fought and she has killed. When her life is saved by a mystery stranger with floppy hair and a bow-tie she begins to learn there is more to life than the Daleks and learns how to filter emotion into her life. But can she live a lie for peace? What will happen when the truth of her past catches up?
1. Chapter 1

**Hey guys, back again.. New Doctor Who fic, haven't given up on my others don't worry half way through the next chapter for Our Days Are Numbered so that should be up soon! Never done an AU so this is all new to me... Would appreciate reviews as they really help me and if anyone would like a story reviewing just tell me! Next chapter has already been written and will be posted ASAP if this one is received well. Oh and unfortunately I don't own Doctor Who or any of the characters... (Ps see if you can spot the hunger games reference and leave me a comment in the reviews if you do) Over and out, Ladypink11 x**

She sits on the rock, barely noticing the icy grip seeping through her body. She is cold anyway, she'd always been so cold. She had been afraid as she ran, terrified of what would happen but sat on the rock her fear had subsided because she knows what is going to happen, for once in her life she will be in control. She had been running for so long. Always running, never stopping to enjoy the scenery. Now she can rest. Finally she can rest.

* * *

She had joined the force at 18, not that she'd had a choice but then, who did? The Dalek force was the talk of Skaro and her father before her had been in the force as had his father before him. Her father's name was Caan and he had been the in the great cult of Skaro, a revolutionary force who had taken over from the Dalek leader Davros and helped Dalek control take over the whole of Earth. Her father, Caan or as he had come to be known the respected Dalek Caan, had been in a great mutiny force, stirring up angst in the community of Skaro, converting others to Dalek ways and before long had a built up the Dalek force. The original leader of the cult, Dalek Sec, had been assassinated, for his 'milder' views it could be said and Caan had taken over as leader. He had been a great leader, a triumphant one, he had been likened to the first Dalek leader, Davros, and she remembered how proud he had been when he had heard that.

Of course they should have seen it coming, it was foolish not to. She had been young when it happened, so young, barely 9 or 10. The Dalek force led by her father had tormented the world, its empire ever growing ever expanding. Colonies and countries and empires fell at the hands of the Daleks, their weapons too powerful, their ways too destructive. The Daleks believed themselves to be superior, the ultimate force of life and this effectively was their down-fall, they terrorised Earth for so long they became complacent. Their forces marched the planet, their dictatorship governed the world and no-one on Earth could stop them. That's when the Time Lords had arrived.

The Time Lords. A rebel force, no one quite knew how they began or where they came from but suddenly after years of domination the Daleks had an enemy, an opposition. She remembers hearing something her father once told his brother, something she wasn't meant to overhear. The Daleks were secretly pleased, they were a blood thirsty force and after dominating Earth there had been nothing left to take, no-one left to kill, yet now a new enemy had emerged from the shadows, they were challenged once more. In Skaro the streets buzzed with anticipation. Skaro was the Dalek central point. Dalek control was all over Earth, it was everywhere but the focal point of the Dalek control was Skaro. All the main operations were run from here and it was an honour to be invited to live there. She of course did, her father being leader it came with the territory and she even began to relish the sheer awe and respect she would get when people would learn of her home city.

Of course, no-one could have predicted what would happen. The Time Lords were rebellious, spontaneous and above all determined but no-one, not even her, in her naïve youth thought they would stand a chance against the Dalek force. Why would they? The Daleks were strong, they were merciless and unforgiving. They exterminated everyone who opposed them and so the world had stopped trying. Yet the Time Lords did not fade away and the longer it took for the Daleks to exterminate them the larger their force grew. People came out from under their shells and joined the new rebel force. Their colours, red and gold, began to streak the streets, all over Earth and as the rebel force grew the confidence of Earth grew. The Daleks began to worry, rumours were rife all over Skaro, was Dalek Caan losing control? So her father had taken action. He had ordered the execution of anyone who supported the Time Lords, had declared war on the rebel party. It had been his greatest mistake. By declaring war he had shown the world his fear of the enemy and the Time Lord party had strived. Soon the numbers were evening out and the forces were equal in size and force and then the war begun. The war to end all wars. It had been called the Time War, was called the Time War because it showed no signs of stopping. It became a stalemate, both sides dotted around the Earth but like before concentrated in certain areas. The main army of the Daleks resided in Skaro, it was only fitting for it had once housed the Daleks' greats. The main army of the Time Lords resided in Gallifray. Gallifray was close to Skaro, scarily close, so close she sometimes wondered if it was the Time Lords biggest stroke of genius. With the central base for each side so close neither could simply launch nuclear attacks on the other, it would simply destroy both cities and whilst each army had this guarantee neither force would leave their respective cities. It was a safety net of fear that was keeping both the Daleks and the Time Lords alive.

Both armies had soon realised that if they continued the bloodshed then they would both perish and so had stopped their combat fighting. From then on it had been a war of stalemate, small concentrated attacks to the enemy, completed by special task forces.

She had joined one of these task forces. It had been assumed by her father she would join the force at 16 but she had insisted she wanted to continue her studies until 18. The term 'studies' however was loose, at school they learned only of the Daleks. In history they learned of the Dalek greats before them, in biology they learned the superiority of their community, in politics they learned how no other party, no other force could ever come close to the brilliance of the Daleks and of course they learned warfare tactics, survival tactics. She had hated school but it had been a route out for avoidance of the force. Her father had reluctantly agreed to let her continue her studies but it had only prolonged the inevitable.

At 18 she had been plunged into a world of warfare. After 9 months of vigorous training she had gone out into the field, as a part of a special taskforce. Their mission had been to bomb the city walls of Gallifray and they had prepared for months. Her job had been crucial, to set the coding for the bombs. It had become clear during her initial testing her skillset was in computers and as her training began it became known she was a computer genius. Her father had of course been delighted, his only daughter, his only child, had shown she had true Dalek potential, it was all he had ever wanted. She had spent weeks designing the coding for the bombs, preparing them, she had worked tirelessly, vigorously and had eventually completed them. Trigger bombs. The first wave would go off, killing and injuring hopeless victims and then as the help and medics poured in to try and save lives the second wave would detonate. It was cruel and merciless yet she had thought nothing of it, brushed aside the consequences of her actions as her training had so taught her to. Until she had heard the screams.

Her training had taught her to be cruel, to be merciless. The Daleks saw emotion as a weakness and so designed their training for their new recruits to strip them of emotion. To break them down until what was left was just an empty shell of hate. So she had thought nothing of designing the bombs, coding them. They had gone out into the field, a task-force of just 6 and she had watched as they had planted the bombs. Then they had left. The bombs would not detonate until the night and they had no reason to stick around for them but she had snuck out, left her house and crept out of the city walls, walked to Gallifray and waited. At 2:32am the bombs had detonated, she remembers feeling the heat of the explosion even from a tree she was stationed in 100m back and watching the destruction as part of the city walls crumbled. It was not a big attack, neither side had the courage to do that. It was more a sign the Daleks were not giving in. For a moment after the attack there had been silence and she had waited for the pride to kick in, the elated joy at victory her father had promised her. Instead the screaming had begun. Deep, sorrow filled screams of pain had ripped through her as an understanding of what she had done, what she had become had dawned on her. She had wanted to scream then for them to move away, to clear the area but she had stayed silent. For fear of her own life, cowardly she had stayed silent and simply waited as people rushed in to help their injured friends.

Then the second wave had detonated.

She remembers what happened next like it was yesterday, not four years ago. She had climbed from her tree and listened once more as the screaming began again and then had run to a bush and vomited and when she had nothing left in her stomach she had walked home, to Skaro and received a victor's welcome. Her father had treated her like a solider and a celebration of her fist kill had been planned. She could no longer look at her father without hearing the screams.

Then she had done the only thing she could to get space from her father. Return to the army. Pretend nothing was wrong and work as she had done before. Yet never again in computing. They had not understood but why would they? A Dalek computer genius shedding their post. It was unheard of but she did not care. If her father was disgraced by her then she was happy. She had become a foot solider and spent the next four years infiltrating Time Lord base camps, occasionally attacking but never again did she take a life. She could never bring herself to do that again and so she sank in the ranks of the Dalek force. Once a rising star, a computer genius, she had been set to take her place with her father at the head of the Dalek force, help defeat the Time Lords, once and for all. After her second year as a foot soldier her father had refused contact with her and she relished his ignorance. Yet still she did not return to Skaro. The anonymity of the army was something she had begun to relish, as long as she remained quiet, small she was not noticed. Now she was here.

* * *

A mission gone wrong, really. Not that she cared. She had been too cowardly to die before but she was ready now. They had meant to attack a small Time Lord base station on the edge of the Gallifrayan perimeter but it had failed. They had underestimated the strength of numbers in the small station and had sensed immediately they were outnumbered. So they had fled, and she had fled with them. Into the woods that separated Gallifray and Skaro she had run until she was alone.

Ironic really, she had been running all her life. She just didn't know what from until the moment of realisation had hit her as she was running for her life.

She was running from herself.

Of course they were coming. The Daleks had given them a lead to follow. Given the Time Lords a lead to follow. These things happened all the time, failed missions meant deaths and deaths meant martyrs and a cause to fight for. It had been years since the bloodshed that had wrecked both the Daleks and the Time Lords but that did not mean the war was over, far from it.

They would be here soon, the Time Lords. Here to take her and kill her and rightly so she reasoned yet the small flame of resilience that burned inside her meant she couldn't let them. She would not die at the hands of the Time Lords, even if she deserved it. She was the one who had let them die and so she was the only one who could truly punish herself.

She hadn't been ready before. She was ready now.

What she had done, all those years ago still haunted her. Every night she would hear them screaming and in a twisted she sort of relished it as her punishment. When she woke up sweating, her thin, grey army sheets knotted around her she savoured the reminder of what she did, confident that whilst the nightmares continued she could never become that person again. Not that she could have ever avenged their deaths. They only thing she could have done that night was scream for them to get back after the first wave had detonated. Given herself up to save them but she was too afraid of death, too selfish. She almost laughed. Now she would die anyway.

* * *

She stands from the rock and slowly unbuttons her uniform. The metallic grey of her Dalek jacket falls to the floor and suddenly disgusted she kicks it into the river. Watching it sink she laughs, a bitter and rueful sound as the irony of watching her gun weighing her jacket down so it sinks beneath the murky folds of the river hits her.

Then her boots. Slowly she unlaces them, pulling each black lace carefully, taking no rush. She is insistent she will savour this moment, the moment she can finally be in control. She throws each boot into the river. Listening, satisfied to the soft 'plop' each one makes.

Then she strips from her trousers, a tough Dalek grey pair of standard army pants and hides them away in bush. She will not die with the Dalek logo in site, she refuses to. With her trousers go her shirt. Finally she removes her underwear and buries it also. The air is cold against her bare skin but she does not shiver. She is not afraid.

She stands at the edge, watching the moonlight lighting her future. She is not afraid.

The river is soft and welcoming and it invites her. The fingers of her undoing lapping, almost tentatively at her toes. Seducing her.

Then she plunges.

The waters are as black as her mind.

The icy embrace of her watery grave surrounds her, takes her. Yet she is still not afraid. As the waters close above her head she barely hears the sound of footsteps entering the clearing and she definitely doesn't acknowledge them.

As she is dragged to the finish line she smiles. Finally, her unrest is over.

She never hears the splash of another body joining her in the water.


	2. Chapter 2

The first thing she heard was the music.

It was soft and gentle and she was sure she was in heaven. She hadn't even believed in heaven, yet here she was. It's dark though so dark. Surely heaven is light?

She wills herself back down into the underground she came from. She does not want to be in heaven, she does not deserve it. Yet the music is getting louder. Heaven is approaching her, drawing her in, screaming at her to be free and so she stops resisting.

Still the music gets louder and louder and louder. It's so loud she wants to cover her ears yet her hands are numb, her arms paralysed. The music courses through her head, screaming at her, punishing her and it dawns on her she cannot be in heaven, she must be in hell.

But there is a nagging suspicion, one she is trying to ignore. One which continues to resurface. Maybe she's not in heaven. Or hell for that matter. Maybe she never made it.

She only has to open her eyes. Once she has opened her eyes she will understand. Yet she is afraid, afraid of what she might see. Afraid of being alive.

Mustering all her courage, all her strength she fights against every natural instinct she ever possessed and rose from her sleep.

She opens her eyes.

She is in a bedroom, that is certain. And the bedroom is not hers, that was also certain. Not the room in which she spent her childhood days, dreaming of a future so far out of her reach it became a story to her. The walls are painted blue, such a deep thriving blue it shocks her into her senses. She has never seen a blue so deep before, never seen a colour so alive.

A sickening fear lurched in her stomach. All the Dalek walls were painted grey, without exception. Colour was seen as creativity and creativity was seen was emotion. Adrenaline and fear coursed in her veins. She was not in Skaro anymore.

The room was lightly furnished, an old spiralling desk sat in one corner and she marvelled at the etchings on it for she had never seen such a thing. The wardrobe door was hanging open and she craned her neck to look inside, ignoring the wave of pain that flushed through her, she had been taught to ignore pain. It was filled with the strangest items she had ever seen, a multitude of colour screamed at her and for a second she had to close her eyes again, her senses overwhelmed by the colour which blinded them. In Skaro everything was grey, from the houses, to the clothing, the food, and the people. Yet here in this room she had seen more life than in her whole 22 years living in Skaro. Of course she had been out of Skaro, seen the beauty of nature, lived in the woods during her four years in the army. Yet she had never seen colour so revelled in, so enjoyed. It stirred something strange inside of her.

The wardrobe reminded her of her clothing. Her uniform. She peered down at her body. She had died naked of course. She corrects her. Shaking her head slightly. She hadn't died. Now she was wearing what she could only assume were pyjamas. She was wearing a plaid shirt and matching bottoms and as she wriggled slightly she could feel they were warm and soft. They must be women's, she assumed. For she was only small, in fact she was tiny yet they were only slightly big on her. They could of course be a child's but something told her she was wearing a woman's clothes.

She slowly stretched her arms out behind and her mustering all of her strength sat up in the bed, groaning slightly. Beside her was a table and on it was a glass of water. She suddenly was aware of a fire like thirst in her throat and grabbed the glass, drinking hurriedly. It was only once she had drained the glass that she realised its danger, it could have been poison. Then again who would go to the trouble of saving her life and nursing her to then poison her?

It was then she noticed the food. So thirsty had she been before she had not noticed the plate of unusual biscuits laid next to the glass. Biscuits were a novelty in Skaro, she was given one normally each birthday. Recruits had to be in top shape and any fattening foods were strongly disapproved upon. These biscuits did look appealing though, they were small and round with little hearts of jam in the centres. She felt her mouth water.

Gingerly she picked up one biscuit, not failing to notice next to it another had a large bite taken of it. Brushing the thought aside she brought it to her lips, only now realising her intense hunger and without a second though ravished the biscuit, and then the next, and then next, until finally all that was left sat alone on the plate was the half-eaten one. Even in her hunger she could not bring herself to eat that one.

It was then she heard the footsteps. Someone was coming. Immediately she tensed. Her initial reaction had been to leap out of bed and take up defensive stance, like her training had taught her to. Yet she simply did not have the energy. She resolved to sit up properly, not slouching as before to be prepared for her attacker.

Then she waited as the door opened.

The man did not notice her as he entered the room, he was fiddling with a device in his hands and did not look up and see her consciousness. She was pleased, it gave her an advantage. He was young, barely older than her. He was dressed in the most ridiculous attire she had ever seen. He was wearing deep purple trousers and a matching purple tweed blazer, along with a pair of shining black shoes and braces. Yet around his neck was an item she had never seen before, only in pictures in culture class. She racked her brains for the word to describe the clothing item trying to regurgitate images from a class she had taken nearly 8 years ago, before her father had banned her from attending, telling her she did not need to learn about other cultures, for Dalek culture was the only one she would ever know.

Then the man looked up.

He gasped upon seeing her and froze for a second before rushing to her side.

"Hello!" He stuck his hand in front of her and for a second she could do nothing but stare until she realised he was expecting her to shake it. Warily she took his hand, trying profusely to ignore the warmth that flooded through her at his touch.

"Hello." He repeated, grinning abundantly.

"Hello." She mirrored. "How am I – Where am I?"

He looked momentarily confused before launching into a torrent of words

"Oh gosh, yes, of course. Well I found you in the river. You must have fallen in, or gone swimming. Terrible time for swimming – way too cold. Didn't your mother ever tell you that? I suppose not. Anyway I pulled you out, couldn't let you drown could I? Well I didn't know who you were, are, and where you lived so, well, I, erm, I brought you here." He fumbled with his hands, as if he didn't quite know what to do with them.

She stared, stunned into silence at the array of colour and passion and life that had flown from him. Never before had she ever spoken to someone who was not a Dalek, growing up in Skaro, the home of the great Daleks she had never met anyone different. She had heard the stories though, in primary school, before the conversions begun. She had heard stories of colour, of light and boldness and a different world. She had once told her mother, asked if there was a different world? Her mother had stopped in her tracks, a wash cloth frozen in her hand. She had sat her down at a table and whispered to her that out there somewhere there was a different world for everyone and that one day she'd find hers. An ache she had suppressed for years suddenly flamed in her chest as she remembered her mother and she had to force herself to look at the man once more to forget her. Forget the only reason she was not like her father, forget the woman who had whispered stories of a better place to her, told her tales of fantasy lands where everyone was happy and no-one died and all the people wore pink and yellow and blue. Showed her photographs of her grandma and granddad and promised one day she would take her away to meet them. But she never had. For her mother had died when she was 7. She was found, beaten senseless in an alleyway after a dispute of sorts and had died shortly after. She had never even managed to say goodbye.

She realised he was waiting for a response and coughed lightly, bringing up the only thing she could think of.

"What am I wearing?"

At this point the man froze and flushed, a deep crimson stain spreading to his cheeks.

"Well, when you were in the water, you were sort of well…–" He coughed, embarrassed and lowered his voice to a whisper "…Naked. So I put you in some pyjamas. I swear I didn't look, cross my heart, I promise." With this his raised a hand a dragged his finger over the left side of his chest in a criss-cross manner, before repeating the gesture with the right side of his chest, as if to suggest he had two hearts. She brushed off the odd gesture yet despite herself she found herself smiling at the fumbling man before her.

"Thankyou."

"No problem, all part of the service." He grinned wildly at her then seemed to register what he'd said and his smile dropped, his face becoming flustered once more. "No, sorry, didn't meant that, I – shall I get you something to eat?" He asked, blatantly ignoring the nearly empty plate of biscuits and despite herself she felt the corners of her mouth rise in a soft smile once more.

"Yes, thankyou."

He turned to leave but in the doorway stopped and swivelled and in that moment the item of clothing she could not place hit her. A bow-tie, he was wearing a bow-tie.

"One more thing. Names. We forgot to do them. Doctor. I'm the Doctor, and you are?"

She froze. Unsure of what to say. In Skaro names were not a big thing, as children they were addressed as groups and as she grew up she was addressed by the name of her father, their family name, Caan. Another memory sprung to mind, another memory of her mother. She must have only been around 4 or 5 and had been confused as to why at school they called her by her daddy's name, rather than the one her mother called her. Her mother had sat her down and told her something even today she could never forget, even after everything she'd been through. 'You my dear, are so much more than that name. You will grow my darling but you must answer to that name, it's the customs.' With that her mother had sighed as if finished but she had not been content, 'Why don't you call me Caan then mummy? If it's my real name?' She had pressed. And her mother had told her 'My darling before you were born I dreamt of my life, my children, and their names. Then the revolution begun and I had to change. But you, my beautiful baby you will grow and live to your real name, I know of it. I named you after my mother and your surname is my maiden name, before I became a Caan. One day you will understand dear why we must change, ignore our real names to take false ones but for now you must sit tight. One day my dear, one day you will live to own the name I chose for you.'

So she told him, the name that her mother had whispered to her as she fell asleep. The name she had not heard nor spoken since she was 7 years old.

"My name, my name is Clara Oswald."


End file.
